


Holding Hands and Wedding Bands

by emlohamora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is a Good Boyfriend, Draco Malfoy is a trophy husband, F/M, Fluff, Hand holding is the cutest thing ever, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, Supportive Draco Malfoy, This is literally just fun fluffy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 10:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlohamora/pseuds/emlohamora
Summary: Preparation aside, she was going to get up there and make a fool of herself, completely sully the title of the youngest witch to become Minister in history‒Stop that. Focus on my hands, Granger.His voice was in her head. How had it gotten there?Stop wondering and listen to me. Focus on my hands, okay? I won’t let you go. I promised I would never let you go and I’m holding myself to that. Focus.She could do that. She could focus on his hands. They had done so much for her over the years, the least she could do was focus on them.His hands.When had she first held them?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 165





	Holding Hands and Wedding Bands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [solrising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrising/gifts).



The only thing that was holding Hermione Granger together at that moment was her husband’s hands around hers. She was terrified, seeing as this was the first time she was speaking to the entire Ministry as Minister for Magic. She had an entire speech written on index cards in the pocket of her trousers, the nice pressed pair that her husband had helped her pick out last week when she was preparing. He said they made her arse look good. She said that wasn’t the point.

But still, her prepared speech could all go to hell the minute she stepped on stage and fell flat on her face. Or stumbled over her words. Or said the completely wrong thing. Or just vomited. 

That would be bad. Very very bad. 

The various department heads had been giving their speeches for near to two hours now, and with every second that passed, Hermione’s nerves grew tenfold. She had thought that she was going to faint just as the Robards from the DMLE hopped up on stage, but luckily, her husband, her fetching, brilliant, wonderfully supportive husband had grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly before starting his ministrations. He could always tell when she was nervous and subsequently captured her hand in his, following the same pattern as always.

A long squeeze of her palm before his fingers danced to her wedding band. He would twist the metal, playing with it almost longingly as if he was in one of his self-loathing moods where he would contemplate if she ever really loved him in the first place. She would squeeze his palm back and then he would begin to draw. His drawings were always the same; one for their son, one for their daughter. If he could get away with it, he would press kisses atop each of her knuckles, chaste ones that still never failed to make her heart swirl and jump in her chest.

She would do the same for him, whenever his nightmares returned or he was having a particularly rough day. She would grab both of his hands with hers and squeeze them tightly, drawing pictures for him, for their children, and for the day they got married. She would always end her pattern by placing one of his hands over his heart while the other draped lovingly over hers.

It was their little thing. They had always been there to hold each other’s hands. Well, not always, but they never stopped from the moment they started.

And just as Skye Buttons began to make his closing remarks‒ Hermione only knew that that was what they were because the tosser had given her his speech four times in the past week, having her check it over for “errors”‒ he began their ritual all over again, more intense and focused than the first few rounds had been.

Hermione could almost swear she heard him in her mind, planting good memories and thoughts to try to drown out her qualms. 

When the bile started to rise in her throat, she focused on his fingers. They were long and dexterous‒ they always had been‒ but as they grew older together, she liked to watch them. They were strong. They could massage away the knots in her body that had manifested from her bad thoughts. They could play the piano so breathtakingly that Hermione had made sure to buy one for them to have for each of their children, so they could learn from their father. They could tuck her curls behind her ear and cradle her face and write her such beautiful letters. They had been the things to slip her wedding band on at their ceremony. They had been the thing to hold her together a countless number of times over the years, and she wouldn’t have had it other way.

Well, she would have had it so that she wouldn’t be having to speak in front of the entire Ministry when she felt as if she was unprepared to. Preparation aside, she was going to get up there and make a fool of herself, completely sully the title of the youngest witch to become Minister in history‒

_Stop that. Focus on my hands, Granger._

His voice was in her head. How had it gotten there?

_Stop wondering and listen to me. Focus on my hands, okay? I won’t let you go. I promised I would never let you go and I’m holding myself to that. Focus._

She could do that. She could focus on his hands. They had done so much for her over the years, the least she could do was focus on them. 

His hands.

When had she first held them?

-*-

Hermione wasn’t sure she had made the right choice coming back to Hogwarts for eighth year. Logically speaking, it was necessary. She was determined to become the youngest Minister for Magic in the history of all of Wizarding Britain, preferably by 35. One couldn’t just do that without outstandings on all of their NEWTs. She hadn’t even gotten to take her NEWTs before going Horcrux hunting with Harry and Ron, much less receive O’s on them.

No, she had to return for eighth year. It would be uncomfortable, undoubtedly, given the memories and the fact that she had lost too many of her friends here back in May, but she could do it. She could look past the rubble and the memorial portraits and the missing people in the Great Hall because she had to.

If not just for it being a smart career choice, Hermione Granger also had to return to Hogwarts for another reason, one much more deeply personal than whatever it was she would end up doing for the rest of her life. 

Draco Malfoy had been a shell of himself when she saw him at his trial. She had been there for an extremely specific reason‒ to testify for him‒ and yet she couldn’t get the thought out of her head that she was going to the Wizengamot’s trial for another reason. She didn’t pity him, no, but she did feel awful for him. It had been apparent when the trio had been brought to the Manor that he didn’t want to be there, that he didn’t want to do what he was being told to. From Harry’s stories, it had been just as apparent that he didn’t want to have to kill Dumbledore‒ a fact even more so accentuated by the fact that he didn’t, that he couldn’t.

She could hear his quiet cries in the corner whenever his aunt gave her a reprieve from her onslaught of curses. He was scared. He was scared and she felt awful for him, even though she had been the one writhing on the floor. 

So, she had testified for him. She had told the Wizengamot about how they would have died if it weren’t for his failure to identify Harry, how he hadn’t gone to find them in the Room of Requirement with malicious intent, how he had warned her about the Death Eaters all of those years ago at the Quidditch World Cup. She had even mentioned how scared and unwilling he had looked when he crossed the courtyard to join his parents during the Battle of Hogwarts. She could see the tears in his eyes even through her own blurry gaze.

As soon as Ginny, Neville, and Luna had settled into their shared compartment, she got up and went to find him. 

She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be in the Slytherin car. He, among a list of their other classmates who had also been involved in the war, had been given probation along with mandatory attendance at Hogwarts for their eighth year. Hermione knew that he would probably want to distance himself as much as possible from them. If it was her, she would do the same.

She found him curled up‒ literally‒ in a compartment at the opposite end of the train from the Slytherin car. He had a book in his lap, a book that Hermione had recognized because she herself had read it a million times over and could most assuredly recite it from cover to cover without a single mistake. 

Hermione could have sworn that she could touch the fear in his eyes when she knocked on the door of his compartment, it was just that palpable. Something about that fact hurt her, made her heart physically ache. 

Draco Malfoy’s first reaction to seeing her was fear.

She swallowed her discomfort with her pride, knowing that the boy sitting in front of her was not her enemy. He was just a boy. She was just a girl. They could make it work; she was determined to do so.

She cleared her throat and stepped into the carriage, holding out her hand once she was an appropriate distance from the boy who had made her life hell for near to six years. And then she spoke.

“I’m Hermione Granger.”

Her eyes followed his as they stared at the hand she was holding out. He was still, completely, utterly, except for his eyes.

She cleared her throat again. “And you are?”

He looked so small, with his feet tucked up on the seat and his book leaning against his thighs. It was only another moment before he shifted, tearing his gaze from her and manoeuvring it back onto his lap as he grumbled, “You know who I am, Granger.”

“Yeah, well I think we deserve another introduction,” she contested, blatantly re-emphasizing her hand as it existed in front of him. “You see, there were some things that happened in the past that I think we can move forward from. Re-introductions are good for such things. Now, I know your parents raised you better than to leave a witch hanging, so I am asking once again, what your name is.”

He levelled his eyes with hers once more, his grey‒ she had always thought they were blue, but the grey suited him much better‒ meeting hers with an intensity and a fervour that had not been there the first time. 

Before she could process what was happening, he was standing, and his warm palm‒ she had expected it to be cold‒ slid into hers with a firm shake. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

She retracted her hand only a moment after he had. A handshake was something, something to start to repair the damage with. Years ago, he never would have been caught dead shaking her hand, but now, he had done it, even if she had guilted him into it. “It’s nice to re-meet you, Malfoy. Although, if we are going to start with the whole‒”

“Why are you here?” he asked, interrupting her.

She blinked at him for a moment, caught off guard. “I love _Hogwarts: A History_. It’s my favourite book if I’m being honest.”

“Drop the game. Why are you here, Granger? What do you want?”

_To have stopped you from ever following in your father’s steps in the first place._

“New beginnings, Malfoy.” Even if it was only partially the truth, that was okay. She would see to it that he knew the whole truth someday.

-*-

They had been cordial for the entirety of eighth year. Well, so far. Hermione had a feeling that everything was going to go downhill the moment that Professor Slughorn announced that they would be brewing their next potion in pairs‒ pairs that he was choosing.

Because of course he had assigned them to be partners. What could the Professor gain from this assignment if not a little entertainment?

Malfoy had been ignoring her. She had caught him in the library a few times, studying or doing work for classes. They were taking all of the same courses, and while they didn’t have every single class together, she always knew exactly what he was working on. She had tried to approach him once to offer her help when he seemed stuck on an Arithmancy problem set, but he had disappeared before she could even get close.

Hermione Granger was nothing if not stubborn and determined. That was why she had purposefully stirred the concocting potion too slowly, knowing that it would start to bubble and he would have to do something about it. He couldn’t ignore her when she was purposefully causing a potion to almost explode in his face. 

It had worked before she could even realize it was doing so, a quick, “What the fuck, Granger?” as his hand covered hers and resumed the stirring. His palm was just as warm as she had remembered it to be, siphoning the chill from her own freezing hands‒ the dungeons had that effect on them. 

“Are you an idiot?” he scolded, his shoulders towering over hers as he continued to stir. They couldn’t stop stirring for five minutes straight, and Hermione had only been about thirty seconds in when she had inadvertently prompted him to hold her hand, albeit indirectly. “If you wanted to blow up the whole school, I would give you a long list of other suggestions to try, ones that didn’t involve tanking my chances of getting a poor grade.”

Funny, she could have sworn that if the roles were reversed, she would have said the same thing. 

“Sorry, Malfoy. I just lost track of things. It won’t happen again.”

“No shit it won’t, seeing as Iwe are currently stuck here for the next five minutes.”

He didn’t speak much more, but neither did she, seeing as how speaking would have forced her to think about things other than the weight of his hand over hers, the slight callouses she could feel on his palm‒ presumably from Quidditch, and the calculated movements of his fingers as he nimbly adjusted the stirring rod in their cauldron. Speaking would have caused her to miss the way his palm began to sweat as they neared the end of their five minutes.

She assumed it wasn’t attributed to the potion, though.

-*- 

Their first date, if you could even call it that, was in the library. He had asked her‒ asked her!‒ to study with him as they prepared for a cumulative exam in Ancient Runes. They had both been confused on a translation and ended up reaching for the reference tome at the same time, their hands brushing.

She caught his eyes as he offered her the volume, noticing the subtle blush atop his cheeks and the glimmer in his eye. She knew the glimmer because it was the same one that she saw in the mirror whenever she was getting ready and her mind started to wander to him.

Their hands had brushed again when they both reached for the inkwell they were sharing. Then, it was Hermione’s turn to blush. 

They both blushed when she nervously slid her palm into his as they read about different methods of translation. Neither of them was reading though, both of them too focused on the other to truly absorb any of the information flying past their eyes. 

When they went to leave the library that day, she didn’t let his hand go, even as they walked through the corridors and he accompanied her back to Gryffindor Tower. He only dropped her palm when she planted a kiss on his cheek, something she had been wanting to do for far too long.

Because Hermione Granger was falling for Draco Malfoy, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

-*- 

Hermione had been worried that Draco‒ yes, he was Draco to her now‒ would not want to continue their relationship once they graduated, if she could even call it a relationship. He was going to go into the private sector, work with St. Mungo’s to concoct new healing potions and things that could be used to help people. Hermione had a job lined up at her at the Ministry, one of the highest junior positions in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had convinced herself that they would pass their NEWTs with all O’s and board the train and she would never see him again once they left King’s Cross Station.

What she had failed to account for was the fact that Draco Malfoy was nothing if not stubborn and ambitious. 

He had shown up at the door of her flat in Muggle London with a bouquet of flowers and a dashing grey suit on. She had been crying‒ about him, of course‒ thinking that he really had left her because she hadn’t heard from him in days. She had just barely been able to wipe the fresh tears from her face when she opened the door and saw him standing there. She broke into a fresh round of sobs‒ for a different reason‒ almost instantaneously. 

He looked at her just like he had when she entered his compartment on the Hogwarts Express, fear tinging the rims of his sparkling grey irises until she very disgustingly wiped her face of the tears and took the flowers, welcoming him into her flat.

“Granger, are you‒”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Why are you wearing a suit? And flowers? Why would you bring me flowers?”

Draco regarded her as if she had three heads. “Because we’re going out to dinner tonight? Did you not get my owl?”

She had not gotten his owl. But, he had waited for her as she changed and used a disillusionment spell to hide her tear stains. And then he had slipped his fingers into hers and led her down the stairs to the sidewalk.

“Did you really owl me?” Hermione asked after more than enough silence had passed.

Draco puffed a jolt of air through his nose, his makings of a laugh. “Yes. I’m not the type of wizard to just show up unannounced at a witch’s door and demand she accompanies me to dinner. Why would I not?”

There was no reason to hide the truth, she deduced. “Because you might not have wanted to ever talk to me again, seeing as eighth year ended and everything.”

He stopped them right there, in the middle of the sidewalk in downtown Muggle London, and turned her to face him. “I would be mad to never want to talk to you again. I hold your hand in public, Granger. I don’t do that for just anyone.”

-*-

Hermione received the letter about her parents from the Healers in Australia four months before she and Draco were set to be married. She had told him about them, about what she had done and how they didn’t remember her in a very painful conversation years before the letter arrived, one night not long after the two year anniversary of their obliviation.

That was the night that he had started his little routine. He had drawn little hearts into the back of her palm before resorting to writing their names and eventually the patterns of their favourite constellations. She had used the same series of patterns on his hands the next week when he found out his father was to be released from Azkaban.

Draco had been more than generous when the letter came years later, asking Blaise to take over his potions business while he set up international portkeys for them to be able to go and meet them, really meet them for the first time since they had forgotten her. He had been the one to arrange her leave of absence, insisting that it was what she needed to do for herself instead of focusing on her career while in such a state. He had promised her then that he would always support her dreams of becoming Minister, but for now, he had to hold her hand. He would always hold her hand; he would never let her go. 

He had held her hand tightly as his old elves‒ he had freed them upon her request‒ packed their bags. He had held her hand, squeezing it in the pattern he had perfected over the past few months, when Kingsley himself delivered the international portkey to the Manor via the Floo. He had held her hand as they whisked themselves off to Australia.

When she couldn’t bring herself to knock on her parents’ door, the one that would inadvertently lead them inside the house that had belonged to her parents as they lived without knowing her, he squeezed her hand tightly and pressed a kiss to her temple, mumbling into her skin.

“I won’t let you go, Granger. I won’t let you fall. This will be okay, do you hear me? You’ll be okay, Hermione.”

She had knocked with her right hand, her left firmly entwined with his.

-*-

Her favourite part of their wedding, other than the fact that she was marrying the love of her life, was when they got to do the handfasting.

“These are the hands that will cherish you through the years. These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind. These are the hands that will wipe the tears from your eyes. These are the hands that will help you build your life together.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

-*-

Hermione Granger-Malfoy loved holding Draco Malfoy’s hands, it was true. They were beautiful creations; they had brought her warmth, comfort, and more love than she could handle over the years.

However, giving birth to his son made her want to break them. And Hermione Granger was nothing if not stubborn and determined. 

Draco had to drink half a bottle of skele-grow before he could properly hold his son. 

Once the time finally came, though, for him to hold little Scorpius for the first time, he did so by sitting behind his wife and placing his hands under hers. 

That was the first time that he had drawn baby Scorp’s constellation into the back of her palm.

-*-

Lyra’s birth was no different, except it was this time that Draco had to drink an entire bottle of the bone-regrowing potion.

Hermione caught him teaching Scorpius how to draw both of their namesakes while her daughter was asleep. She had never been more in love with the man.

-*-

Draco had been the one to convince her to apply for Minister when Kingsley announced his resignation.

“Granger, if you think you are missing out on this opportunity because you are worried about our children then you have not learned a single thing about me in these ten years we have been married. There is no option. Either you send in the application or I’ll do it for you.”

Hermione had scoffed. “I am not going to sign myself up for more work and leave my children to flounder! They can’t go toddling around all day without at least one parent‒”

“I’ll have Blaise take over permanently. You are not missing out. This is what you were meant to do, Hermione. This job was made for you. Contrary to popular opinion, my children like me and I think they might enjoy spending a little extra time with their father. Blaise can take over the business, you’ll be Minister, and I will be you dashingly handsome stay-at-home husband who you can bring to events as eye-candy. End of discussion.”

When the owl arrived with the letter containing the hiring committee’s decision on her application‒ only the Minister sent orange envelopes‒ Draco had been the one to hold her hand and flick his wand to open it when Hermione couldn’t even bear to look.

She had buried her head in his chest, tears brimming her eyes and just waiting to overflow with the rejection‒ 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to be able to say that I’m the Minister’s husband. It’s been my number one goal since birth and I feel extremely lucky that I am now able to achieve that status.”

Hermione sheepishly pulled away from his hold, her eyes wide as she glanced up at him with a meek, “I got the job?”

His smirk was so wild it was as if they were young and careless again, snogging in not-so-hidden alcoves in between classes and forgoing all of the rules just to see as much of each other as they possibly could. “Welcome home, Madam Minister.”

The only time she had knowingly torn her hand from his was in that moment, to grab his face and bring his lips to hers in a searing kiss that would have sent the stars into the deepest parts of the galaxy, if they weren’t already there.

-*-

Hermione vaguely remembered what was happening when the sensation of her husband’s fingers on the back of her palm returned, his voice in her ears.

_You’re brilliant. Buttons is just finishing up now, so take a deep breath, okay? You can snog me silly afterwards._

_Oh, and your welcome for the little trip down memory lane. Potter has been teaching me a few new auror tricks and I figured you could use the reprieve. Thank me later. Maybe in bed?_

She glanced over at her husband, catching the glint in his eyes as he continued to watch the stage, the corners of his lips quirking ever so slightly as she watched him in wonder. She would most certainly thank him later, replacing his idea of gratitude with a few choice words and maybe a night on the couch for distracting her. She would let him sleep in their bed if, and only if, she didn’t make a fool of herself. 

_You will not make a fool of yourself, do you hear me? And if you do‒ which you won’t‒ I’ll obliviate everyone in attendance so nobody remembers._

She could have slapped him for his arrogance‒ 

“And it is my pleasure to introduce our lovely Minister for Magic, the youngest witch in history to ever hold the position, Mrs Hermione Granger-Malfoy!”

Hermione quickly threw out the ideas of slapping her husband and replaced them with a charming smile as she dropped his hand, stood, and crossed to the stage. It wasn’t until she met the eyes of said husband again while standing at her podium, that she heard him once more.

_Don’t be too charming, Granger. We don’t need you going home with another bloke’s wedding band around your finger tonight._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated. Come find me on Twitter @emlohamora


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